Friday, April 6, 2007

Dearest God,

Feet. Twelve pairs of feet. I washed the feet of Jesus' friends. I knelt before Jesus and washed their feet. And while I washed theirs, Jesus washed mine.

A simple act of hospitality became a profound model of faith. Wash one another's feet so we're all clean, every one of us. We're about washing feet.

In a dimly lighted sanctuary Jesus walked among us. You sent him? He found us, a small body of people whose feet needed washing, whose hearts needed cleansing, whose lives needed changing. It felt as if we were the only body of people in the world at the moment I stood to wash feet.

I wanted to wash Jesus' feet so I washed the feet of his friends. I never looked up to see whose feet I was washing. He could have been any one of them. I washed, moving the water over the feet and toes, then I held the ankles and prayed. And moved to the next ones. Slim, narrow feet, wide, long feet, feet lotioned and pedicured, just as they are feet, the feet of Jesus.

As a female pastor, I always stepped aside for a male to do the washing. After all Jesus was a male. May not mean as much if a woman did it. After all isn't that what women do every day...wash feet? Baby feet, teenage feet, husband feet, co-worker's feet. All day long, every day washing feet. But these feet were unique, the reason for washing was different.

To step into the role of Jesus is an awesome one, so much responsibility. Humility, love, compassion. I had to carry these with me as I bent down. To wash feet.

Your feet, Lord,
I washed your feet.
What vision of loveliness.
Feet that walked
the path of healing and hope.
Feet that trod
the road to Calvary.
You carried my feet
to the cross,
my feet,
ooh my,
my feet.
My dirty feet,
smudged, smeared
in sin.
You carried my feet
to the cross.
And I knelt to wash
your feet.

Humbly, your child Andrea